


the colours of the world (are changing day by day)

by incarnandine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incarnandine/pseuds/incarnandine
Summary: He tells Shiro how the sky looked like on that planet, because he knows Shiro loves the sky, no matter if it's blue or red or a dusky gray; about the people, their antics and specific words for something or other, about the bizarre but nonetheless tasty food; in turn, he listens to stories about the ship crew's antics and, as the night draws on, to the rare insight into Shiro's own thoughts.Or, Keith feels restless at night and goes to the only person who is capable of calming him down.





	1. red (the world about to dawn)

Sometimes, on the first nights after an assignment, Keith is restless.

  
Being a part of the Blades is a different responsibility to that of being the leader of Voltron, and most of the time he feels better playing the role of a spy than the one of a brave hero - _doesn't it say something_ , he thinks grimly - but it also keeps him away from the Castle most of the time. And after how much is happening during the war with the Galra, it's not necessarily a good thing; every time he hears of the lions flying out for yet another mission his heart skips a beat, because even if it so happens that everyone comes back unharmed, it might just be-- pure _luck_.

  
So he wanders the castle hallways, too tired to spar with the machinery in the training room, and yet too uncomfortable all by himself in his own sleeping quarters.

  
He hesitates briefly upon reaching a familiar door: as soon as he raises a hand to touch it, it slides open effortlessly. He used to be more ashamed of those nightly visits before they turned into something regular and anticipated; seems like Shiro doesn't even lock his doors these days, he thinks with a small smile as he slips inside, letting the entrance close behind him with a soft click.

It takes a moment for Keith's eyes to get accustomed to the darkness in the room after having wandered the brightly lit hallways for a while; he blinks once, twice, then moves slowly forward, relying on his memory and on the faint glow of the emergency light lines not to knock into anything. A green nightlamp comes on suddenly, and as trained as he is in all his reflexes, it still manages to startle him a little.

  
"Some spy you are," Shiro's been asleep already, Keith can say; his voice is a low chuckle, still groggy with sleep, as he moves on the narrow bed to make some space for him. Keith feels the tips of his ears go red and he's glad that the light isn't strong enough to let Shiro see his embarassment, but Shiro only takes one look at his expression and smiles encouragingly, patting the mattress next to him.

  
It's not the best of ideas to sleep crammed on a bed that's barely enough for Shiro himself, Keith thinks, but it's also far from the first time they do something like this; so he toes off his shoes, folds his jacket on one of the shelves and slips in under the warm covers, fitting against the other body until his head is tucked under Shiro's chin.

  
"Want to talk about it?" Shiro's voice is no more than a whisper somewhere in Keith's hair, warm breath ghosting over his forehead. Shiro's hand comes to rest below his shoulderblade, warm and a little rough even through the fabric of Keith's shirt.

  
A breath, then two, and Keith starts talking, his voice just as hushed as Shiro's had been before; he starts with the small things, the details he'd learned on the latest mission; it takes a while before their talk shifts into a loose conversation about everything and nothing, really. He tells Shiro how the sky looked like on that planet, because he knows Shiro loves the sky, no matter if it's blue or red or a dusky gray; about the people, their antics and specific words for something or other, about the bizarre but nonetheless tasty food; in turn, he listens to stories about the ship crew's antics and, as the night draws on, to the rare insight into Shiro's own thoughts.

  
It feels good, Keith thinks, settling in more comfortably against Shiro's broad chest, one hand coming up to the nape of his neck to play with the soft, buzzed hair there; he tunes out the current topic of their conversation enough to focus on the warmth radiating from Shiro's body, on the soft outline of security lights along the ceiling, on the way Shiro's bare arm flexes every time he strokes Keith's back, muscles rippling under the smooth surface of his skin. He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales; Shiro smells like clean soap and a hint of warmed metal, and it's so familiar it's almost painful; he didn't realize how much he missed it until now, but his heart clenches all the same.

  
Shiro died once before, he thinks, burying his nose in the crook of the other's neck; every time he flies on a mission - every time Keith goes on an assignment - one of them could die; so he pays attention to every smallest detail: to the way Shiro is solid and warm against him, to the way his touch on Keith's back is as hesitant as it is reassuring; to the way the tendons in his neck tighten along with the movements of Keith's own fingers.  
"Hey," he feels Shiro's voice more than he hears it, a soft rumble against his cheek.

"You still with me?"

  
He only nods and lies quiet for a moment before he shuffles, his head tilting back just enough to look at Shiro in a more comfortable position and suddenly they're so close their noses brush and Shiro's breath is warm on his face.

  
This, too, is familiar and comforting; despite that, Keith's heart skips a beat as Shiro's warm hand slides up his back to cradle the back of his head. He looks up and even though it's far from the first time they kissed, he still forgets to breathe under the intense look in Shiro's dark eyes; it's burning into him, full of emotion that Shiro usually keeps tightly contained under surface, and he almost can't stand it. So, he leans in and claims Shiro's lips with his own, chuckling at the small victory as under his fingers he feels a shiver run down Shiro's spine.

  
The rest of the night is lost between soft kisses and hushed words, their palms chasing each other twining and untwining above the covers; and when Keith finally falls asleep, it's to the first rays of the first of this planet's three suns rising in pink and grey hues outside the small window, Shiro's hand a heavy and comforting weight on his hip and the steady rise and fall of his chest against his back grounding him into present.

  
For a few hours between midnight and dawn, Keith's world narrows down to this small room aboard a flying castle, and he allows himself to forget his missions, his fights; now, he's sure Shiro will be here when he wakes up, and this is comfort enough.

 


	2. black (the night that ends at last)

Shiro wakes up moments before the door to his sleeping quarters open with a soft click.  
  
He's a pilot, a trained soldier; vigilance has been drilled into him from the very beginning, and what natural laziness he managed to retain has been brutally corrected by his time in the Galra captivity.  
  
This time, though, he's able to recognize the soft shuffle of boots just outside his door; nervously moving from foot to foot before taking a hesitant step in, the brightness of the castle corridor shut down again instantly by the slide of the door behind him.  
  
Shiro smiles a little to himself and pulls himself up just enough to reach for the night light; in the faint green glow it's easier to see Keith's hunched posture, surprisingly small and unsure. He's always been so sure of himself, that much Shiro knows; they both were, until life and the war and the amount of responsibility thrown onto them limited that.  
  
Keith shuffles closer, still a little awkward, and Shiro feels a chuckle rise in his throat.  
  
"Some spy you are," he smiles up at his fellow pilot, his voice that of a good-natured joke. He moves aside without hesitation, his back pressed to the cold wall to make room for Keith; it should make him feel trapped, it _should_ , but somehow, with Keith he feels-- safe.  
  
 _We keep saving each other_ , he thinks with a soft smile as he watches Keith remove his shoes and jacket before sliding in next to him, a head of black hair tucked securely under his chin as Keith fits in beside him, long muscular limbs curled to fit Shiro's shape as much as he can. It's not exactly comfortable, not with the bed small and narrow, but it keeps them close enough for Shiro to smell the smoke and the sand on Keith's hair, to feel his lean body slowly warm up in his arms.  
  
He waits a moment and then lets Keith talk; gods know the younger man needs it, left with his thoughts alone for so long on the Marmora missions he undertakes. Keith talks about everything and nothing; mission intel intertwined with stories about the locals, the food, the long evenings spent in a desert hideout, and Shiro listens to all of that, accepts his words with small hums of encouragement and advice thrown in here and there as he focuses on the rhythm of Keith's heart slowing down, on the tightly coiled muscles of his back starting to finally relax under the soft but insistent pressure of Shiro's hand.  
  
He offers his own stories once Keith is done talking; small details from the life of the crew, an amused _Coran this and then Hunk that to which Pidge something else_ , intent of making Keith still feel like a part of the crew despite being away from it physically. At some point, Keith's hand moves up the back of his neck and starts playing with the buzzed cut there, earning an involuntary shiver from Shiro.  
  
Gods, he's so easy to play when it comes to Keith; one look of those dark, dark eyes, a touch of his hand, and Shiro's completely lost, like a man drowning. There's no way Keith doesn't know this; his every movement, every breath almost seems deliberate, like he were zooming in on the sensations passing between them instead of the words said.  
  
And Shiro tried so hard to make the stories _funny_ , he thinks, amused.  
  
"Hey," he nudges Keith's cold foot with his own, their legs tangled at the knees beneath the covers. "You still with me?"  
  
The answer is silence, and Shiro's about to repeat the question when Keith shuffles a bit and looks up, those wide dark eyes intent and fully focused on him, and for a moment he forgets what breathing feels like. If he were standing, he's sure his knees would give out under this gaze.  
  
Keith tilts his head a little and before Shiro knows it, his own fingers are slipping into the mess of black hair, cupping the back of his head - careful, gentle, because as strong as he knows Keith is it doesn't mean Shiro of all people can't be _gentle_ with him - and he pulls the other pilot closer, his other arm moving to hold Keith around the waist, their lips meeting slowly, both of them melting into each other even more. There's a line Shiro's heard somewhere, read in a book, maybe; _struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight_ \- and as it comes to his mind now, he bites down a chuckle at how perfectly it describes the way Keith makes him feel.  
  
There are more kisses to follow after that, soft and tentative as they're both frankly too tired to move onto anything else; Shiro doesn't find it in himself to truly complain about it, focused instead of the feel of Keith in his arms, the way he sometimes feels smaller than he really is; he seems to fold down into Shiro and Shiro accepts it, curling up around him to shield him from the world.  
  
 _After all, they're each other's heroes_ , he thinks with a smile, his hand coming to rest on Keith's hip with Keith's back securely pressed all the way against his chest as finally fatigue brings them both to sleep.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm not gonna get into voltron, i say as i wake up at 5 am to write a fic based on my friend's headcanons
> 
> come shout sheith at me @ [tumblr](http://incarnandine.tumblr.com)!


End file.
